


find his way by moonlight

by moeblobmegane



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Toews gets drafted by the pens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 03:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16966734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moeblobmegane/pseuds/moeblobmegane
Summary: Every night, Jonathan would sneak out of his house to play with the boy; a Soulmate AU.





	find his way by moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delightfulalot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightfulalot/gifts).



> **Disclaimers:** I am merely borrowing the name, the face, and the media-driven narrative of Sidney Crosby, Jonathan Toews, and the Pittsburgh Penguins. None of this is true.
> 
> Happy birthday Sam!!!!!!!!!!

**I.**

When Jonathan is 9 years old, he meets The Boy.

He comes to Jonathan mostly at night, out in the cold, with a hockey stick in hand. He always waits for Jonathan to step on the ice before following after. They take face-offs against each other and do drills side by side. They don’t talk. They can’t. He thinks perhaps the boy is not really here, or is not all here, because he appears from thin air and his movements don’t have sound. His stick bounces off the ground but there is no thunk of wood on ice. His skates glide silently.

Their hockey speaks for itself, though. Even without words, Jonathan knows that the boy is like him: someone who lives and breathes hockey. Beyond that, nothing else matters.

 

Since they can’t introduce themselves, Jonathan simply thinks of him as The Boy.

He doesn’t tell anyone about this, because he knows what they will say. “Only babies have imaginary friends,” his brother would tease him. His mother would look disappointed and say, “Have you been sneaking out of your room at night again?” They don’t understand that playing hockey with the boy is the most exhilarating thing he has ever experienced. It feels real. It feels like what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

The boy is real, and someday, they will play together in the NHL. Jonathan believes that.

 

Unfortunately, the boy stops appearing, and Jonathan’s parents get better at stopping him from sneaking out. It feels wrong not being able to see him once or twice a week. A hollowness settles in his chest, and it does not go away no matter what he does. He misses the boy. He misses playing with someone who wants this as much as he does, who trains as hard as he does.

Jonathan can only hope that, wherever he is, the boy is okay.

 

 

When Jonathan turns 13, his mother tells him about soulmates.

“They are an extension of your soul,” she explains. “When you find something that connects you, something that makes the both of you happiest, they will appear to you. And when you see them, you’ll know.”

“How?” he asks. “How do I know they’re my soulmate?”

“It’ll make sense when you see them, I promise,” she answers with an encouraging smile. “It’ll feel like they’re the one you’ve been waiting for your whole life.”

He thinks about the ice, about the puck sliding across the goal line, and the expression on the boy’s face after an exhausting drill. He thinks about the joy he feels and the dream in his heart.

Smiling at his mother, he says, “I hope they like me.”

“They will,” she says. “Of course they will, honey.”

He wonders where the boy lives, and when they will meet for real.

 

**II.**

Sid makes up an imaginary friend one night after begging his dad to let him play a little longer outside. He is taller and thinner than Sid, and he wears a pajama onesie that looks like a formal suit. This is not what he first notices, though. What he focuses on, immediately as soon as his friend appears beside him on the ice, are the skates he drags with one hand and the stick he holds on the other. He is not dressed for the chilly night, but then again, neither is Sid. Little Canadian boys always brave the cold for hockey.

“I’m Sid,” he says. “What’s your name?”

His imaginary friend blinks like he is confused, and when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. It’s weird, but Sid has seen weirder. So, he shrugs, takes a puck from his pile on the ground, and gestures for a faceoff.

The boy smiles, lights up with it, and follows after.

 

In his mind, Sid calls his imaginary friend Suits, because that pajama onesie remains the funniest piece of clothing he has ever seen.

Suits wins faceoffs a lot, but he is slower than Sid. His skating is not as smooth. He loves hockey, though, as much as Sid does. The joy on his face when he gets a goal is the same expression Sid has on his face. The best thing is how he grins whenever Sid does something good, like he’s proud of Sid instead of angry of him for showing off.

They do drills side by side. Suits is good with it, too. He is earnest and determined in a way that is endearing. Most other players hate Sid for being good, and they try to trip him up or shout at him when he stick handles away from them. Suits laughs and chases him with clear competitiveness. He likes the challenge, even craves it.

It is clearly something from Sid’s imagination, something he wishes for so hard that it feels real. Despite meeting a lot of other hockey players, Sid has never seen anyone who enjoys late-night hockey as much as he does. He has never met anyone who plays without the need for words. It feels too good to be true.

Though, even with that thought in mind, Sid cannot help but wish that they could play hockey together forever. If this is a dream, he hopes it is a recurring one.

 

By the age of 12, the bullying is so severe that the only happiness he has is playing outside with a boy he made up, or playing inside the house with his toddler sister.

Hockey is hockey wherever you play it, and Sid always wants to play, but the shouting and the hits drag him down to the point of tears. Normal checks hurt, but the way they come at Sid always has intent with it. They hate him. They want to hurt him. They want him off the ice.

As he skates towards the bench, he closes his eyes and dreams of the cold night air and Suits’ giggling face when Sid falls down after playing for too long.

 

Everything changes when he transfers to Shattucks-Saint Mary’s. He finds a team in Shattucks, a group of people who likes him for who he is and appreciates his hockey enough to ignore his oddities. Above all, he finds Jack who is fiercely protective and loyal. The bullying calms down, though not entirely gone. He can handle this much. As long as his own team likes him, he thinks he can survive anything.

He spends most of his time playing hockey at the rink with his team, or playing baseball with Jack.

After a while, Sid feels safer. He feels at home. He forgets about made-up friends and late-night hockey. Instead, he focuses on the present: on real friends and winning.

 

**III.**

It takes a disgusting amount of time for Jonathan to figure it out, and the annoyance he feels when it all clicks almost drives him to get a flight to Nova Scotia to confront Sidney.

Except it is _the_ Sidney Crosby—saviour of the Penguins, greatest player in the current NHL—and no matter how up and coming he is, Jonathan cannot talk to him as if they are friends, even if they _are_ in his mind. They are more than friends. Sidney is his _other half_ , or whatever being soulmates even means. This whole situation sucks, and whether he gets drafted in a team with Sidney or not, Jonathan will find a way to check him into the boards as revenge. Possibly more than once.

He glares at the TV. They are still showing highlights of last year’s draft, plus some in-depth interviews with the families involved. The host shows a picture of a tiny Sidney for a Timbits ad before cutting to the footage of Mario Lemieux and Sidney at the draft.

“Aren’t you getting drafted top three?” Dan plops down at his side on the couch and elbows him on the ribs not so lightly. “What did Mario Lemieux ever do to you?”

Jonathan turns his glare towards his _annoying_ best friend without answering.

“Or, wait, is this about Sidney Crosby?” Dan puts on an exaggerated shocked expression. “Jonathan Bryan Toews, are you trying to compete against The Next One?”

Jonathan takes the throw pillow behind him and hits it square on Dan’s stupid face. “Fuck you,” he says.

“That isn’t a denial,” Dan sing-songs.

“I’m not trying to compete against Sidney fucking Crosby,” he says. “And he’s not The Next One.” Sidney already has a moniker of his own. Of course he does. It’s ‘The Kid’, which sounds annoyingly close to The Boy.

“Then why are you glaring at the TV as if the NHL announced you’re going to the worst team in the NHL?”

“I probably am,” he mutters.

“Jonathan.” Dan raises an eyebrow and waits him out. He knows he will win if he waits long enough. Jonathan can be patient, but Dan is better. Confiding in him is much less painful than seething in silence.

So he tells Dan everything: from the late-night hockey games, to the talk his mother gave him, to the fact that it’s Sidney fucking Crosby. He tells Dan about opening the television to a picture of his childhood friend and soulmate, and then seeing Sidney talk about his atom hockey days.

“Dude…” Dan stares at him in disbelief. “He was drafted last year. His picture was _everywhere_.”

“I was focused on hockey,” Jonathan says defensively. “The only time I cared about him was on his game videos, and you don’t see his face much there.”

“He went to Shattucks! _You_ went to Shattucks!”

“He left before I got there.”

“Sure, but what’s your excuse for not noticing _all his pictures_?” Dan’s eyes are wide and his hands gestures wildly, as if he cannot contain his bewilderment. “Tazer, he’s Sidney fucking Crosby.”

“I know,” Jonathan sighs. “I guess… I didn’t really think it was possible, and it’s been a long time. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“The power of denial?”

Jonathan shrugs. “I wanted to play in the NHL with him, but I stopped seeing him and I started thinking maybe he was just my imagination, or something went wrong and I lost him…” He grimaces. “I play hockey all the time, and he plays hockey all the time. Shouldn’t we have that special soulmate moment again?”

Dan looks to the side, expression turning pensive. Humming thoughtfully, he says, “I don’t really know enough about it, but maybe that was it? Your special soulmate moment?”

“Oh,” Jonathan says. “That sucks.”

“Do you think he’ll see you at the draft and remember?” Even as he says it, Dan looks unconvinced.

Jonathan knows the feeling. “I barely remembered how he looks like, and I only did because they showed a picture of him playing atom. I doubt he’ll remember me.”

“You’re sure he’s your soulmate or whatever?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan answers easily. He might not remember everything about those nights, but the feeling in his chest is still clear. Until now, walking outside and feeling the chill of night time air brings back joy in his heart that cannot be explained any other way. A part of him will always miss the boy. “Sidney Crosby is my soulmate. Fuck.”

 

Sidney is at the draft, and he greets everyone with a professional but awkward smile. He treats them all the same. Jonathan knew this would happen but he still feels a spike of disappointment. His mother’s stories (about how she and his father met in college a year after having their soulmate connection) are always so romantic, always so full of hope. She talks as if your soulmate will smile and it will be the start of your happily ever after.

For Jonathan, there is no magical reunion. No ‘have we met somewhere before?’. No dramatic running into each other’s arms. No romantic music. Nothing special.

It is a draftee meeting a bonafide NHL star, nothing more.

“Good luck on the draft,” Sidney tells him. “You’ll definitely get drafted high. I’ve seen your games.”

Jonathan nods. He hides his real feelings under a polite smile. “Thank you.”

He watches as Sidney walks away.

 

Getting drafted by the Penguins is both a dream come true, and a nightmare.

The idea of being in the same team with Sidney—with _the boy_ , with his _soulmate_ —brings him joy and excitement, but also a feeling of dread. Though the Pens are not yet a good team, they have Sidney and they will have Evgeni Malkin, and those two alone can pull this team forward. There is a bright future ahead, something that Jonathan wants to be a part of.

If he can set aside his expectations about his soulmate, maybe everything will work out.

He only has to ignore that tightness in his chest whenever he sees Sidney Crosby.

Easy-peasy.

 

**IV.**

Colby is the first one to point it out.

“Did you do something to the rookie?” he whispers, motioning to Tazer with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

Sid elbows him.

“What?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Sid says. He knows he sounds defensive. He _feels_ defensive. As far as he knows, he has never done anything to Tazer. They barely even talk. Tazer is polite and works well with him in the powerplay. On the ice, they have chemistry.

Off the ice, Tazer sometimes looks like Sid killed his entire family. Is it jealousy? Is it anger? Sid doesn’t know.

It’s disconcerting.

He isn’t sure how to go from here. He isn’t sure he wants to upset the balance even more.

“Yeah?” Colby frowns, and Sid can see the pity there. He can see the mental calculation too, like Colby is trying to figure out how to prank Tazer after this.

“He didn’t do anything either,” Sid points out. “He’s a good kid.”

Colby raises an eyebrow. “You’re a kid.” He grins. “You’re _the_ kid.”

Sid shoves him.

 

“Nice goal.”

Tazer looks up from unlacing his skates, eyes wide as if he did not expect Sid to call out to him. He turns red, then looks down to continue what he’s doing. It feels like a dismissal.

“Uh, thanks,” he mumbles. “You, too.”

He doesn’t look up until Sid walks away to talk to the other players.

 

Normally, it does not bother him when players don’t like him. It’s part of his life. Compared to the bullying from when he was younger, or the outright targeting he gets from other teams, a teammate being aloof is nothing. It should not affect him.

But for some reason, it bothers him. He wants to play with Tazer more. He wants to stay after practice and do extra drills with him. He wants to ask him to play shinny during the weekends.

It is a ridiculous impulse.

Like most other impulses, Sid squashes it down and focuses on the game.

 

“Congratulations on the Ross,” Tazer tells him as soon as the media disperses his stall. He’s smiling genuinely, with no bitterness or anger simmering underneath. Sid likes how it changes his entire face. Tazer frowns too much for a rookie.

“Thanks,” he replies, a beat late.

It’s awkward. The others have left the locker room, since Sid’s interview dragged, and no one else but Tazer and Geno had media swarming their stalls. Geno must have begged off again. Sid knows Geno barely understands English right now, but trying to have a conversation with him is still easier than talking with Tazer.

“Geno, uh, he left early again?”

Tazer shrugs. “I didn’t see him,” he says. Then, after another long awkward pause, he adds, “I get it, but it sucks that I have to answer interviews when we all know he’ll win the Calder.”

“Hey, you’ve got a shot.”

Geno scored more points and he is a _phenomenal_ player, but Tazer is amazing in his own way. He’s more defensively responsible, and he takes less penalties. The judges take note of those things.

“Bullshit,” Tazer says, then freezes. His cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I mean—”

Sid laughs and waves it off. “You don’t need to be so polite with me, you know? I’m just one year older.”

“Sure, but you’re going to be the Captain.” There’s an edge of stubbornness to his tone that makes Sid smile.

“That’s not a sure deal yet,” Sid says, even though it is.

Tazer gives him the most deadpan look he has ever seen in his life.

He bursts out laughing, enjoying the way Tazer’s expression break into a small bashful smile.

 

It gets easier. Time and the gruelling work in the playoffs soften their relationship and bonds them like all the other Penguins. They talk more easily, laugh more often, play easier together.

There’s a warmth that persists in his chest whenever he makes Tazer relax. He thinks it might be pride for befriending the rookie.

 

 

When they lose in the first round, Sid goes home with a heavy heart, and drops to his bed in exhaustion.

He dreams of formal-looking pajama onesies, and the night sky.

 

 

**V.**

Sid treats him like any other rookie, and it annoys him to no end.

He tries to not feel that way, he really does, but there’s a part of him still waiting for Sid to _get it._ A part of him is still hoping that Sid will see him celly and think _“Wait… That’s familiar.”_

It never happens.

Instead, Sid looks at him with confusion and anxiety. He looks like a kicked puppy sometimes.

It annoys Jonathan even more.

 

“Do you have something against Sid?” Duper asks him one day. He looks calm and composed like normal, but there is an edge of protectiveness in his tone.

“No!” he immediately answers. “Nothing!”

“Really?”

“I swear! We’re fine.” They are far from fine, but that is all inside Jonathan’s head. On the ice, they are perfect, and isn’t that all that matters?

“Try not to glare at him too much,” Duper says lightly. It’s not a threat, but… It’s not friendly, either.

“I don’t glare at him,” Jonathan says. “My face is just this way. Normally.”

Duper examines his expression for a few seconds. The tense interrogation feeling dissipates when he smiles and claps a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he says, much kinder than before. “You should buy a face massager. Want me to buy you one?” He grins. “You’ll get wrinkles early, otherwise.”

 

He tries harder, after that. It’s not easy but he pushes all disappointment down and focuses on the team. Geno is a monster of a player, and they got Recchi back, too. The other players are responding to the change with fervor. The whole team can feel how close their chance to compete in the playoffs are.

With Sid leading the way, it’s easy to imagine their team winning the cup.

 

One hundred twenty. 120 points. Sidney fucking Crosby got 120 points on his second year in the NHL.

It’s _ridiculous_. He is a god out there, and Jonathan does not know why he is being tested this way. How is he supposed to act normal when his soulmate is this hockey genius who scores all kinds of beautiful impossible goals while also being the most awkward person on earth?

Jonathan is only human. He shouldn’t have to see this.

Sid laughs at the beat reporters’ jokes, but he also speaks with clear confidence when he talks about the scoring title. When it comes to hockey, he is straightforward and even cocky. When it comes to answering questions about his future captaincy or who will win the calder this year, his laughter is strained and he tenses. He awkwardly evades answering.

It’s almost hilarious to watch him circle around questions until he distracts them with his non-answers.

When they leave, he slumps on the stall and sighs, his media armor falling away.

He looks tired, but happy.

Jonathan wants to sit by his side and tell him everything he feels.

 

It gets better.

Jonathan gets used to Sid’s brand of awe-inspiring hockey and hilarious awkwardness, and Sid starts talking to him like a friend. Losing in the first-round of the playoffs puts a strain on the team, but with Sid being named Captain, they recover and refocus for the next season.

That summer, Jonathan dreams of playing hockey at his backyard with a grown-up Sid.

 

 

“Pushing yourself too hard wouldn’t do anything,” Sid tells him, after an awful game against the flyers.

Jonathan stares down at Sid’s ankle brace and doesn’t reply. Sometimes he feels a heaviness in his ankle, and the idea that it’s another facet of this whole soulmate situation makes him want to throw something at the wall. He hopes it’s simply his imagination tricking him.

He loathes the thought of having another reminder that he is the only one who feels something.

Sid has been nothing but the literal man of Jonathan’s dreams, and that’s enough to drive Jonathan mad sometimes.

“Hey,” Sid says, hobbling over to his side. “I mean it. Geno’s already on a rampage. We need you to be clear-headed.”

“Why can’t I go on a rampage too?” he asks. He is aware he sounds like a child. He is aware that there is an ugly emotion called jealousy rearing its head in his mind. Sid and Geno has something special. They’re slowly becoming _partners_. Jonathan’s just an overly-serious player who sometimes help Sid with drills after practice.

“You can,” Sid allows. “But only if Geno’s clear-headed.”

“So, never.”

Sid laughs. Jonathan cannot help but smile back.

“You two play in different ways, and you should exploit that,” Sid says. “I know for sure you’ll do a great job together. I believe you.”

He will not admit it out loud, but he will do anything to make Sid look at him with that earnest expression all the time.

 

**VI.**

It all comes to a head when they win the cup, and Sid brings the cup home to Nova Scotia. He does the parade and shows it off to his friends and family, then he falls asleep with it by his side.

And then he wakes up too early, and he sneaks out of his room and goes to the backyard where there’s enough ice to skate. He leaves the cup on the dinner table as he laces on his skates but he brings it outside even with his hand occupied with a stick. He places pucks inside to make use of it, giggling under his breath at the image.

He’s a Stanley Cup winner, and he’s using the cup as a container of pucks for an outdoor skate at dawn.

It’s exactly how he imagined it as a child.

As if summoned by this thought, he sees it. He sees _him_.

Jonathan is staring at him in shock, fully decked in winter clothes and skating gear. He opens his mouth, then closes it, as if he knows no sound will come out. When he glides closer, his skates make no sound on the ice.

“You’re—”

Jonathan sighs, then smiles. He points to the cup, then taps his hockey stick on the ice.

 _Wanna play?_ He is saying, the way he did back then.

It is too early to think about this, so he shuts off all the questions in his head, picks up a puck, and gets ready for a face-off.

Just like old times.

 

“Did we play hockey? Telepathically?”

He should really start with a greeting, to be polite, but he’s too keyed up to do that. After his mom called him to go inside for breakfast, and after he watched Jonathan disappear into thin air, he went to his room to get his phone and dial Tazer.

“So you remember,” Tazer says, bland like this is nothing.

“It was _minutes ago._ ”

“I honestly thought you’d forget this time, too.”

Sid narrows his eyes, taking the time to parse what that might mean. It’s still too early to think about this, but he needs to understand it now. He needs to know why Jonathan appeared like some kind of imaginary—

“Are you my imaginary friend?”

Tazer laughs, but it sounds humorless. Dry. “We’ve been teammates for years now, Sid. I’m definitely real.”

“You know what I mean, asshole,” Sid says.

“Not sure that I do, to be honest,” Tazer says. There’s something in his voice that makes Sid pause. He’s forcing himself to sound casual, to sound aloof. It’s a technique Sid has seen before. It’s a defense mechanism.

“I called you Suits in my head,” Sid shares, figuring he might as well try to keep the conversation moving in the right direction. “Since you couldn’t tell me your name.”

“What?”

“You wore those pajama onesies with a formal suits print, and it made me laugh every time I think about it,” Sid continues. “Do you still buy those kind? You should. It fits you.”

“...Suits, really? That’s what you called me?”

Bingo. “Yeah. What did you call me?”

Tazer goes silent for a few seconds, but Sid waits him out.

“The boy,” Tazer says, almost too quiet.

Sid laughs. “How original,” he teases.

“Good thing I didn’t think of you as The Kid, eh?”

Sid laughs even harder at that. “Thank god.”

The silence that follows is less awkward, but still strained.

“Do you know why—”

“I do,” Tazer answers preemptively. He sounds nervous. “I don’t want to talk about it on the phone.”

“Oh.” Sid can be patient, but he’s too curious right now. “I’ll go with Philip to bring the cup to you. You’re next, right?”

“What? No! You stay there. I’m sure your family wants you to—”

“They’ll understand if I tell them I want to celebrate with you.” It’s not a lie. Taylor has been heavily implying that he will follow the cup when it goes to Winnipeg, and that he’ll use it as an excuse to hang out with Tazer in the offseason. (She knows him too well.)

Tazer goes quiet, clearly weighing the pros and cons as he is wont to do.

“If that’s what you want,” he sighs, in the end.

“Then, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

 

One advantage of being considered weird by your entire family and friend group is that you can decide to fly to Winnipeg to follow the Stanley Cup and no one will even question it.

(Taylor doesn’t question it, but she does laugh for a minute straight and then tells him to bring home Tazer after the parade.)

 

Since there’s a whole schedule for the cup and the parade, Sid texts Tazer when he arrives, but makes himself scarce. Tazer deserves to celebrate as planned.

Three hours later, Tazer calls him.

“Come here,” he says, instead of a greeting. “Everyone’s asking for you.”

“It’s your parade,” Sid says.

“My mom wants to see you,” Tazer says, which is just unfair. Andrée likes Sid, and Sid likes being her favorite. Of course he’ll come if Tazer uses that card.

“I’ll be right there.”

 

Andrée meets him outside their house and ushers him inside to the kitchen. She asks him about his summer, and about his family, and about his thoughts on the season. She asks him about how Tazer was in Pittsburgh. They talk long enough that Sid forgets to feel nervous about whatever Tazer will tell him.

“You’re always welcome to visit,” she says at one point. It sounds more serious than their earlier conversation. “You’re important to Tazer.”

Sid feels that familiar warmth in his chest intensify.

 

It’s already midnight by the time the party ends. Tazer drags him out to the backyard as soon as the last guest leaves. They sit on the ledge of the porch, overlooking the icy backyard.

It looks familiar, especially with the night sky clear above them.

“You really are Suits,” Sid murmurs.

“That’s a stupid name,” Tazer says.

Instead of rising to the bait, Sid asks, “Why did I see you? How was that possible?”

Tazer takes a deep breath. When he exhales, it’s shaky and weak. He is more nervous now than Sid has ever seen him be during the season.

“My mom says it’s not common, but our family has a knack for it,” Tazer explains nonsensically. “It’s a myth for some but a lot of people really experience it. My mom watched a movie with my dad a whole year before they met in person.”

That doesn’t answer anything.

“I guess since we both like hockey so much, it presented itself early. It was _really_ early. Mom’s never heard anyone experience that before puberty.”

“Experience what?”

Tazer looks up, carefully avoiding Sid’s gaze. “We’re soulmates,” he says.

“Soul… mates?” He doesn’t even know where to start with that.

“I don’t know a lot about it,” Tazer continues. “My mom only told me what she knew, and she only knows it because of what she experienced with dad. She used to think it was a myth and her grandma was making up stories.”

“What do you know?” Sid resists the urge to touch his shoulder and make him meet his eyes. If Tazer feels it easier to talk about this while looking up at the stars, then Sid will keep his hands to himself. He doesn’t want to make this any harder.

“You’re an extension of my soul,” Tazer says. He looks down now, at the ice, never at Sid’s direction. His lips are turned down as he speaks. “You’re the one I’ve been waiting for my whole life. The universe thinks we’re a best match.”

Sid thinks about those nights when he was younger, about the joy he felt and the relief that persisted even after he’s slept. He thinks about the warm comfort of playing with a friend after a whole day of fighting against everyone else. He thinks about how having that ‘imaginary friend’ saved him more than he cares to admit.

But then he thinks about how angry Tazer was when they first met. The glares, the aloofness. He thinks about how long it took for them to even be friends. Sometimes, Tazer still looked at him with an unreadable expression.

Now, Sid has an idea why.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” Tazer says, finally looking at him. Beyond anything, what’s on his face is confusion over Sid’s reaction.

“It feels like this was forced on you,” Sid says. “If you don’t like it…”

The confusion gets even more pronounced. “If _I_ don’t like it?”

“I’m sure there’s a way to—”

“Why would I not like it?” Tazer asks. “Of course I like it!”

Sid blinks. “What?”

“You’re _Sidney Crosby_ , the best player in the NHL. You’re my _captain_. You—You get dinner with me once a week even if you hate vegan places! You’re _perfect_.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re perfect _for me_ ,” Tazer insists. “I never forgot playing with you as a child. Playing with you in the NHL was… _is_ my dream. Winning the Stanley Cup with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“I think so too,” Sid says, _sighs_ really because he’s overwhelmed by the emotion in Tazer’s face and his voice. “Winning the Cup with you has been my dream, and I think you’re perfect for me, too.”

Tazer frowns. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

“I’m not forcing myself.” How hasn’t Tazer seen it? Taylor has only been around him for a few weeks and she’s already figure out Sid’s feelings. He’s pretty sure Duper and Flower knows, too.

“You’ve never shown interest before,” Tazer argues.

“Do you think I eat at vegan place for anyone?” Their dessert menu is _disgusting_. He wouldn’t go there with anyone else even if Tanger threatens his life.

Tazer stares.

“You’re _my_ alternate,” Sid says. He doesn’t know how to explain the depth of his feelings. He doesn’t know how to verbalize the pride he feels whenever he gets to make Tazer laugh or make him relax completely. He doesn’t know how to explain his ever present need to spend more time with Tazer.

He can’t put it into words.

Instead, he goes for the straightforward route.

“I don’t completely understand what this soulmate thing means, but I’m glad it’s with you.”

 

 

 

( **VII.**

Jonathan goes to Nova Scotia the next day, and Taylor screams in glee when she sees them walk into the house hand in hand.)

**Author's Note:**

> it's a bit sloppy and completely unbeta'd but i really wanted to finish it today. it's uhh 3 am here so pls forgive the mistakes.
> 
> I hope you liked it, sam!!!!!


End file.
